


It's Good, Isn't It?

by theprydonian_archivist



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Drama, Episode: s03e12 The Sound of Drums, Gen, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-03-02
Updated: 2008-03-02
Packaged: 2018-07-15 00:47:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7198673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theprydonian_archivist/pseuds/theprydonian_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My attempt at explaining why the Master always asked the Doctor if it was ‘good’.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Good, Isn't It?

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Versaphile, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Prydonian](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Prydonian). Deciding that it needed to have a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact the e-mail address on [The Prydonian collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/theprydonian/profile).

"It's good, isn't it?"

The Drums were louder some days than others. It wasn't that hard to figure out, even for the humans. As psychotic and cruel as the Master was, he could be so much worse. The staff on the Valiant had taken to calling these worse days as the Master's episodes. An episode could last anywhere from a few hours to days, growing worse the longer it lasted.

It always started the same. The usually hyper man would sit still and silent for an almost alarming periods of time, usually locked away somewhere on the airship and would torture and/or kill anyone who dared interrupt him. Then would come the rages. He would tear through the room he was in, demolishing if before moving onto other rooms then onto cities and countries, slaughtering countless people until his rage passed.

He would leave again afterward, usually to the strange blue box in the cargo hold that the staff were forbidden to touch. More often than not, he took the Doctor with him. None of the human passengers knew what happened during that time they were alone together but when they eventually returned; the Master looked exhausted, but his version of normal, while the Doctor just looked heartbreakingly sad.

* * *

The Master had burned Japan.

Some part of the Doctor had hoped the Master wouldn't actually go that far. As foolish a hope it was, it still tore into him to have it shattered.

This was the worst the Doctor had seen the other Time Lord, the worst 'episode' to date. He knew it was going to be bad - it had been building for days and the humans onboard had been cowering, waiting for the fallout.

"You should eat," the Doctor had commented the previous day.

"Not hungry."

Hours before, after disappearing for an entire day, the Master had calmly pulled the Doctor out of his tent in the middle of the night, shoved him into the wheelchair, and brought him to the TARDIS. They had passed the paradox machine without a glance, heading deeper into the more or less intact body of the ship and to the grand library. The Master had left the Doctor in the wheelchair in front of the large, comforting fire and took the chair across from him.

"You'll get sick," the Doctor had continued, secretly pleased he got a verbal response from the man, but the Master had only shrugged, dark eyes distant and non-seeing.

"Is it the Drums?" the Doctor had asked needlessly.

The Master focused on him again.

His whole pose seemed to scream 'villain' from a spy film, sitting in a large, ornate red armchair, legs crossed and fingers steepled under his chin. The Master studied the Doctor for a moment, eyes darkening in thought before brightening again in insanity. He stared into the Doctor's eyes, not trying to enter his mind, just staring for the sake of it.

Without a word, the Master stood and, pausing to straighten his suit, swiftly turned around to kick the armchair he had been sitting in over. The chair crashed into the lamp that had been behind the chair which, in turn, knocked over a table sending a priceless vase to shatter on the floor as the table toppled. The Master didn't stop to enjoy his work. He was already dashing toward the door, knocking furniture out of his path.

The Doctor didn't bother trying to follow him. There was nothing he could do to stop him anyway.

The Master had hooked up the airship's intercom system to the TARDIS, the Doctor found a few minutes later when the room was suddenly filled with the Master’s voice.

"My Children!" the intercom screamed in the Master's voice. "Find a place, any place! And country or island somewhere and obliterate it! A place with lots of people - millions! Destroy them!"

There were protests and screams as the Master gave the command to the Toclafane but the order continued to sound.

"Burn it! Burn it!"

The Toclafane chose Japan, the Doctor found out from the horrified screams of the staff.

It was hours before the Master came back for the Doctor. He had stared at his old form from the door before he calmly rolled the Doctor out of the messy library, down the long hallways, and to a bedroom. He parked the wheelchair beside the large bed and waited, knowing the Doctor knew what he wanted. Sighing, the Doctor reluctantly pushed his protesting body out of the chair and onto the bed.

Silently, the Master moved the chair out of the way and stripped down to his underwear - his movements sluggish and tired. He laid down beside the Doctor and curled close, eyes slipping shut.

"Theta?" His voice was soft and hoarse from screaming but it also lacked the demand and insanity it usually held. "It's good, isn't it?"

"...no, Koschei, it isn't."

"It can be... the burning. Destruction and death. It is good."

"Not this way."

"There is no other way. The Drums... their beat. It tells me so."

"It's lying. Using you."

"No... no, they're honest. Brutally so." The Master opened his eyes again. "The Drums of War, Theta. I have to tear everything down to make everything right again."

"You don't."

"Oh, I do, I know I do. Everything is in the way of progress. I have to level it all out, set the foundation. The old one is crumbling and lopsided. I'll make it better."

"For what purpose?" The Doctor demanded, voice stern and harsh now. "What do the Drums want you to do then?"

"They only want destruction, but once the canvas in blank, they'll retreat from my mind and leave me to create the universe anew." The Master eyes began to shine in the dim light. "Just imagine it, Theta. It's what you've always wanted. A new Gallifrey - as majestic and powerful as ever! - only without all those pointless and stuffy rules. Multiple species living under its newly burnt orange sky. Isn't that what you want most of all? Isn't it good?"

"Why ask me if it's good?" The Master frowned at the retort. "These are your actions, your deeds. You know just how good or not they are."

"This is for you, though. All of this is for you." the voice was smaller now, almost desperate in it's meekness. "You destroyed my planet, Theta."

"It was my planet too, Koschei. My home."

"No, it was one of your planets, and it was never really your home," the Master said seriously, moving onto his back to stare up at the ceiling. "You're half human, Theta. I've seen that you are. You've always had Earth because of it, even before you left Gallifrey. Earth had always been an option for you, been here, waiting for you. A back-up home." The Master looked back at the Doctor. "You destroyed my home, my only home."

"So you're rewarding me?" The Doctor almost scowled. "By destroying Earth? My 'back-up home', as you call it?"

The Master frowned, his brow furrowing in thought as he considered the Doctor's interpretation of his actions.

"I'm... giving you a new world - a gift, really. Merging your two worlds into one."

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, but Gallifrey is gone, Koschei. Everyone is gone. It's pointless trying to change that."

They went silent for a few minutes in the darkened room, trying to understand what the other had told him and to let the words sink in.

"I was sick afterward.' The Master stated matter-of-factly. "Regeneration took a while to settle... for a relic, your Tardis is a decent nursemaid. I kept listening for others - the silence I heard was... horrifying. Worse than the Citadel... The delirium didn't help either. There was nothing but the Drums, those weeks I was sick. No other Time Lord minds to stifle the noise and I had no choice but to listen to them, finally, after nine hundred years. I finally had to listen to them, completely give them my attention."

"I'm sorry." The Master ignored him.

"The satellites block your mind from me as much as it blocks mine from yours. I hate the silence... and to hear your voice after a year of the silence and the drums..."

The Doctor suddenly understood just what the Master was doing, why he was still alive.

"You don't want to be alone... you want me to stay. So you're giving me a new Earth... and a new Gallifrey. So that I'll stay."

"All for you." The Master turned back onto his side to face the Doctor, watching the expression on his aged face closely. "I'll destroy this world for you, Theta, so that we can fix it."

"It doesn't work like that, Koschei."

"I will make it work like that." The Master hissed, voice stronger than it had ever been that night. The Master stared at the Doctor for a few more moments before laying his head down on his pillow, forehead just brushing against the Doctor's shoulder. "I'm tired now." he breathed, voice soft once again, and without another word, he closed his eyes and slept.

The Doctor knew the other Time Lord wouldn't remember what happened tonight - he never did once he recovered from an 'episode'. The Master always assumed the Doctor had worked out his secrets all on his own, and for the most part, the Doctor did, but the Master was always the  
one to confirm his suspicions.

The last violent episode, the Master had confessed just what the Toclafane were - as well as his misery, leftovers from Yana he defensively theorized, at finding all his work had gone to waste. That he had failed to save them. The Doctor's hearts had ached in sympathy, knowing the feeling all too well.

The Doctor closed his eyes and raised a hand to lightly touch the other's forehead, just below the hairline at his temple, and listened.

The sound of the Drums exploded in his mind. He felt every nook and cranny flood with the deafening roar and knew that it was thousands of times worse for his old enemy and that quieting them would not be as easy as pulling a hand away.


End file.
